“Free, Motorhead, and Snake are all on their way,” Fish announces. “Motorhead’s watching the bar, Free and Snake are comin’ for you,” he rasps. “Best get your ass to your office and wait for them.”
I nod, knowing that the time has come. I knew it would. I was just hoping to avoid it—forever. I feel like I’m walking the green mile as I make my way toward my office. It’s unlocked, and I flip the light on before I go inside.
“I’ll be right outside your door,” Fish mutters, closing the door to my office behind me.
I look around the room, sucking in my lips and closing my eyes. I walk over to the desk and pull out the envelope from yesterday morning knowing that Prescott will want to see it.
What little freedom and personal strength I had is now gone.
I should have given Pres the first note, and I definitely should have handed him the second. I was lying to myself, trying to be strong or trying to protect him. I don’t know which.
Whatever I was thinking, it was stupid, and now I’m scared shitless, and Prescott is going to be so fucking pissed.
The minutes tick by and they feel like hours. I wait for Prescott and I know when he’s arrived. I can feel his anger as it surges throughout the entire building. Gulping, I back away from the door, standing against the opposite wall, and I wait.
Seconds later, the door flies open and he’s there, a ball of fury, his face so red that it’s purple. I don’t blame him, not one bit. I lower my chin, casting my eyes to the floor in shame.
The door to my office closes, the click of it locking into place, the only sound I hear in the otherwise quiet room. He didn’t slam it, he closed it quietly, which is absolutely terrifying.
“I haven’t opened this. I’m trying to decide if I should throttle you now, or at home later,” he whispers.
I gulp, again. “I’m sorry, Pres,” I admit, lifting my eyes to look into his green ones.
He nods. “Why?” he asks. The question is only one word, and yet, it feels so complicated.
Inhaling through my nose, I exhale and try to keep from crying the buckets of tears that threaten to fall down my cheeks.
“I thought it was just to scare me. I figured they were all dead, or in hiding. I thought it would be giving in to fear, and letting them win if I told you,” I whisper.
Prescott turns his head, inhaling a deep breath then turns back to me. I see the pity in his gaze, but that anger is still simmering right beneath the surface. I know that I’m not free of it yet, nor do I deserve to be.
“I’ve been letting you just come and go as you please, not keeping a man on you at all times because I thought you were safe here. Safe in our town, safe in this bar, and safe in our motherfucking house. You weren’t, were you?” he asks.
I shake my head. The truth on the verge of my tongue, but the look in his eyes causes me to bite down on my tongue instead. “Free is your shadow. Motorhead is running the bar from now on during the day until Hayden is back,” he spits.
“What about you?” I ask weakly.
He snorts, his eyes turning a frosty green that I haven’t seen since my return. “Don’t you fucking worry about me, Ginger. You haven’t given a single fuck how I feel, why start now? You’re on house arrest. Free will take you to your doctor’s appointments, other than that you don’t leave the house. Fish’s wife will do your shopping so you don’t starve my baby.” I watch in horror as he turns away, opens the office door and storms out.
As soon as the door slams closed, my body jerks and I run after him. Swinging the door open, I turn the corner, going as quickly as I can. Free and Motorhead are right there and they block me. I put my hands on their shoulders and try to move them out of the way so that I can squeeze between their bodies, but they don’t let me.
“Prescott,” I scream toward his retreating back. “Snake, Prescott,” I scream as tears stream down my face.
He’s walked away from me. Left me. The pain that slices through me is greater than anything else I’ve ever felt before in my life.
It’s so great that my knees buckle and I start to fall to the floor. Free is in front of me, his arms slide beneath my armpits and he hauls me to my feet before I hit the ground.
“Calm yourself,” he whispers.
I shake my head, my hair flying all around me. I can’t calm myself, he’s just left me, walked away without even glancing back at me.
Free reaches down, slipping his arm beneath my knees and carries me back into my office. He sits down on the sofa and settles me in his lap.
Pressing my face into his neck, I cry. My body shakes with sobs, but he doesn’t say a word, nor does he move a muscle. I don’t care, I use him to cry on anyway.
I cry until I have nothing left inside of me, until my eyelids are heavy and sore. Closing them, I allow myself a few minutes of reprieve, knowing as soon as I open my eyes again, I’ll cry more.
SNAKE
I rip the envelope open, my jaw clenching when I see what the note inside says.
Aryan Whore,
Time’s up.
Two words, but their meaning is clear. This fucker is going after my wife, my wife who is carrying my baby. Fuck him and fuck her for not telling me.
It’s obvious that this isn’t the first note, and Fish overheard what he said to her, asking if she’d received his other notes.
She knows who he is too. All it means is that he’s one of them, one of the men who took her, or held her, or fucked her—or all of the above.
“Snake, don’t you think that was a little harsh. She’s pregnant, and the doctor already was concerned with her blood pressure,” Fish mutters from next to me.
His words make my stomach twist. Fuck yeah, it was harsh, but I didn’t know what else to do. I can’t look at her right now, my anger is too fucking great. I can’t be in the same house as her either.
I’m protecting her from my anger, from myself. Nothing she could tell me right now would make keeping these threats from me, acceptable. I don’t know that I will ever forgive her.
Ignoring Fish, not giving him any kind of answer at all, I walk into the clubhouse. It’s quiet today, and I glance behind the bar to see Hayden there.
She’s made herself our club bartender, and she’s doing a better job than any prospect we’ve had behind there. While she’s on lockdown, that’s where she’ll be.
I grunt, turning from her, and make my way toward my office. Slamming the door behind me, I walk to my desk and sink down in my chair.
I don’t see anything as I stare off into the room. I feel betrayed, lied to, and pissed the fuck off.
“What happened?” my father asks, closing my office door behind him.
I clench my jaw, refusing to answer him, he’s not my friend and he’s not my mentor. He’s just some man that I’m biologically related to. Nothing more—nothing less.
“You may not like me, son, but I know something is wrong and I know it has to do with your woman and the Aryans. So how about you let our personal shit go for a minute and tell me. I might be able to help,” he offers, sitting down on the sofa across from my desk.
Lifting my eyes to his, I tip my head to the side. “Ginger has received threatening notes, I don’t know how many, and I don’t know where. She didn’t tell me about them, and she wasn’t going to. The man who has been leaving them for her appeared in the bar today, hand delivered this one,” I state.
Taking the envelope out of my vest I throw it across the room. My father reaches for it and I watch as he reads the few bold words, then his jaw goes hard. He lifts his gaze to meet mine and he nods.
“Did she tell you why she kept them a secret?” he asks calmly.
I snort. “She didn’t want his scare tactics to work. She refused to show fear.”
Saying it all out loud, I kind of understand it. Doesn’t mean I agree, doesn’t mean I forgive her, but I understand her logic a bit.
However, she isn’t in control of just herself. She has our baby inside of her, my
daughter, and she’s put her life at risk too. That I cannot forgive, that I cannot think about logically.
“Strong woman you got there,” he murmurs. “Strong, but not smart.”
I grunt in agreement. She’s strong sure, but she doesn’t realize there is strength in admitting that you need help. Hiding shit from me is not the way. Not even close. She doesn’t trust me, and that’s where the problem lies.
“What do you know about this motherfucker?” I ask.
Pulling up my phone, I scroll through the picture that Fish sent me of the man that entered the bar. My father takes my phone from my grasp and I watch as a scowl appears on his face, he looks up at me, his jaw set. I have no doubt that he knows exactly who that man is, and what he knows isn’t good, not at all.
CHAPTER TWELVE
GINGER
I slowly open my eyes, wincing when I do. They’re swollen but that’s not what hurts, they’re so dry that they feel like sandpaper.
After falling asleep, crying in Free’s arms, he gathered me up and brought me home. I ended up crying, again, as soon as I walked into my empty bedroom.
Then I went a tad crazy. I ripped open my panty drawer and gathered the envelope from there before getting the one from the tampon box.
I set them on Prescott’s nightstand and then I decided I couldn’t sleep next to them. So, I took them to Free and threw them at him before I hurried back upstairs, locking myself in my bedroom and crying some more.
Forcing myself to sit up, I stumble toward the bathroom. My eyes and head ache. I take a quick shower, hoping that the warm water will refresh me a little. It doesn’t work. Prescott is still gone. He still hates me, and I still screwed up my entire life—again.
Grabbing a pair of leggings and an oversized shirt, I throw my hair up in a bun before I make my way downstairs. The living room is empty, and I’m surprised to find Free in the kitchen. He’s leaning against the countertop a coffee in his hand, and a frown on his face.
I busy myself, preparing a bagel and cream cheese as he watches me… intently. “I’ve known you for a few years, Ginger,” he begins, and I lower my head as I push my bagel down in the toaster.
“You have,” I agree on a whisper.
“Never known you to be stupid. What the fuck were you thinking, hiding that from your man?”
Free is usually serious, but always caring and considerate. I don’t take his words to be cruel, but they sting because they’re full of the truth.
Taking my bagel out of the toaster, I use my knife and spread the cream cheese on each side before I take a small bite. I’m not hungry, yet I know that I have to eat to keep the baby inside of me nourished.
Inhaling through my nose, I look up at him. His gaze is nothing but pure concern and I know that he’s worried not only about me but about Prescott, too.
“I have no excuses. I was scared, but I didn’t want to show fear. I thought I was being strong,” I whisper.
He nods, but the sadness he aims my way tells me that my excuse, it isn’t enough. If he doesn’t find it enough, or good enough, there’s no way that Prescott will.
“I believe you, but babe, this isn’t little shit. This is your life, and her life, at stake,” he murmurs, pointing to my belly.
Automatically, I place my hand on my stomach, and a wave of nausea rolls through me. I tamp it down as his words roll through my head. He’s right. I fucked up, and I fucked up huge.
“I need to apologize, I need to make this right,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “Snake doesn’t want to see you, he made that clear. You are only to go to your doctor, nowhere else, not even the clubhouse.”
Closing the distance between us, I wrap my hands in his cut and yank him down so that our faces almost touch. “It wasn’t a request,” I grind out through clenched teeth. “Take me to my Old Man,” I demand.
Free wraps one of his hands around mine and squeezes. “I’ll take you, but babe, I don’t think it’s been long enough. He ain’t gonna be happy,” he mutters.
“I could give a fuck,” I spit.
A renewed sense of fire and urgency rolls through me. I need to make this right, and he has to listen to me. I won’t accept anything less.
Free straightens and takes a step back, with a nod he turns and grabs his keys. “Eat that on the way,” he mutters.
I take a paper towel and place my bagel on it, following closely behind him, afraid he’ll leave me behind. We drive toward the clubhouse in silence while I force my breakfast down. I need to talk to Prescott, and that is the only thought that swirls around in my head.
The prospect opens the gate, letting us pass and my heart starts to race. It’s pounding in my chest as Free pulls into an empty spot and shifts his vehicle into park. I reach for the handle, but Free’s hand takes mine first. Turning to him, I tip my head to the side in question.
“Whatever happens, whatever he says. He’s angry right now, hurt, and probably scared,” he whispers.
My heart skips a beat at his words. His words that are clearly from experience. I hate that he’s right, that Prescott is feeling all of those things and it’s my fault. One hundred percent my fault. I also hate that Free knows how he’s feeling.
Nobody should feel this way, not ever. I nod, unable to say anything. He releases me, and I open the door, sliding out before I hurry toward the front of the building.
Crooner is sitting outside of the main entrance and his eyes widen when he sees me walking in his direction. I hold up my hand as soon as his mouth opens to speak.
“I know I’m not supposed to be here. I forced Free to bring me. Is he inside?” I whisper the last words, afraid to know the truth.
He could be inside, sure, but he could be there with a whore, trying to fuck me off of his mind. I have no doubt that he did that the first time we broke things off. Things are different this time, though. We’re married, and I’m not going anywhere. Prescott is mine.
“Far as I know he’s up in his room,” he grumbles. I wrap my fingers around the handle of the door, inhaling deeply. “Alone,” he finishes.
My shoulders drop, the tension completely fleeing from them at that one simple word. I shouldn’t have even though he wasn’t alone, he made a promise to me, and Prescott keeps his promises.
The clubhouse is quiet as I step inside, it surprises me. I don’t think I’ve ever been in here when it’s practically empty. I don’t come here often, but usually there are at least a few people milling around. Today, it’s completely dead.
I begin to walk toward the hallway that will lead me to Prescott’s room when someone clears their throat. I stop in my tracks and turn toward the sound. It’s Hayden, and she’s behind the bar. She lifts her hand and motions me toward her. Abandoning my mission, I make my way to her.
“You really pissed him off,” she whispers as soon as I arrive. I nod, because I did, and there’s no other way to put it. “He loves you though. It’s clear.”
Okay…
“I’m only saying this because I know how club life is. Especially life inside of the clubhouse. He didn’t do anything, he got shitfaced and stumbled to bed, alone,” she offers with a shrug.
There are a million things I want to ask her. Like how does a seventeen-year-old girl know anything about club life, about what happens behind these walls? I don’t ask her anything though.
I give her a smile and a nod, instead. She doesn’t say anything else, turning to clean the bar top and completely ignores me. That girl is going to be a tough nut to crack.
The hallway is dark, as usual, and when I find Prescott’s door, I turn the knob, surprised to find it unlocked. Stepping into the dark room, I lock the door behind me before I chance a look at the bed. He’s there, sprawled out on his stomach, stripped down to his boxer briefs and as both Crooner and Hayden informed me, he is indeed, alone.
I want to wake him up, scream, and demand that he talks to me, but I don’t. Instead, I strip down to just my panties and I crawl into be
d beside him.
I need to feel his warm body next to mine.
I need to smell his scent, even if it smells heavily of booze and weed right now.
I just need to be next to him. When he wakes up, then we’ll hash everything out, and I’ll refuse to allow him to push me away. Until then, I’ll be content to have his warm body next to mine.
SNAKE
Something warm presses against my back. I crack an eye open and groan at the brightness of the room. Fuck, I can’t believe I drank as much as I did last night. And smoked. Shit, I haven’t smoked pot in years. I can’t deny that I needed it though. After the day I had yesterday, I needed to escape. Right or wrong, I needed it.
I groan, and a hand gently traces down my side, causing me to freeze. It slips along my stomach to the top of my boxers. I pinch my eyes closed, wishing my dick would go flaccid, but that fucker is hard as nails.
I don’t know who is behind me, but I can’t imagine bringing a whore to my bed. Unfortunately, I only remember walking into my room. I don’t even recall undressing last night.
Slim fingers slide between the waistband of my boxers and wrap around my cock, squeezing me gently but firmly. I suck in a breath, as lips skim my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” a sweet voice whispers and that’s when I relax.
It’s Ginger.
I don’t know how she got here, but right now I’m glad it’s her hand on my dick, and not some whore’s.
“You fuckin’ should be,” I growl.
I’m unwilling to forgive her, or even be nice to her at the moment. She strokes my cock a few times, sliding her thumb across the head to swipe the pre-cum that’s begun to gather there.
“What do you want me to do?” she asks, her voice trembling against my skin. I close my eyes for just a second, shifting my hips as she begins to stroke a little harder.
“Right now?” I ask. She hums as her answer. “Take my cock, Ginger.”
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